


Follow Through

by sasha_b



Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Mild Language, Post Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: John's never one to leave things left undone.
Relationships: John Constantine/Angela Dodson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Follow Through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturnina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnina/gifts).



> Post movie, and post after movie credit scene.

The cemetery is empty. And pretty trashy, actually.

And the lighter that he’d left on the headstone is gone. Which is not surprising, considering what he’d seen a few nights before here, but he’s not going to tell Angela about that. Not yet. He’s considering it, but while he’s thinking, he smokes. He has other lighters.

He wonders how long it will take before the cancer comes back, but considering everything else, he doesn’t give a toss. Or a flying fuck, or whatever. He’s mostly sure that Lu- the thing he’d seen recently (that had healed him if only for his own designs) would take him when he was ready. He’d let the cancer come back, or let John die in an accident, or have some magical being take him out. Whatever. As long as John’s not at the helm of the sacrifice.

That would be a repeat of what had already almost happened, so, nope.

He relishes the lack of nicotine cough, though, and he takes a deep drag and looks down at the headstone only briefly. And then away from it, toward the city, its dirty, bedraggled self rising above the traffic and nasty people and nasty things that live there.

He can sense Abigail’s frown from behind him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. She is _new_ to this, new to him, and she hadn’t known Chas and even though he appreciates her coming with him – death not being his favorite thing really ever, despite his proximity to it – she clears her throat and steps next to him.

He can feel the warmth of her shoulder against his, and he blows a furious stream of smoke out up into the dirty brown/black/red sky.

“Didn’t he have any family?”

“No,” John answers. _Just me. Sorry, kid._

The sun is setting; Angela twists her mouth and knocks her shoulder into his. “You’re not telling me something. I know you – well,” she smirks, and he laughs through his drag. “I’m getting there,” she says, more softly. “I want to.”

They both stand at the foot of Chas Kramer’s grave, and John knows that what mattered about Chas isn’t there anymore. It might be hovering above them, or in another part of the world all together, but it’s certainly gone from Los Angeles. And not in the _moved on to a better place_ sense. Like, gone, as in Chas’ soul is being used for another purpose now.

And John’s not sure if he likes that.

He wants to tell Angela what he’d seen. But as much as he thinks he can trust her, especially after what had happened to her and to him (together) he knows all too well what happens when people that matter to him get involved and that means more death.

Or at least more pain.

“Come on,” he says, and turns from the headstone. “I spend enough time with ghosts.”

She follows him from the cemetery as the sun sets, her black Adidas scuffing the leaves that form the carpet surrounding the dead and the reminders of things that don’t really matter any more. She thinks of her sister then, and shudders as something passes over them; wings beating, her hair stirring as she looks up and sees nothing but the empty, smoggy dark sky.

*

3 AM is a common time for John to be awake; he’s out on the roof of the bowling alley, puffing and breathing (clearly, at least for now) when the whoosh of what sounds like a very fucking large bird ruffles his clothing and he doesn’t really want to turn but he does anyway.

He blinks through the smoke and the sudden burning in his eyes and pinches his mouth into a thin line that hurts his face. His ever-present coat flaps and the artificial light that shines like a fucking halo (he laughs) behind the boy’s head forces a squint to his already lined face, and he holds up a hand to shield himself from its glare.

“Why?” he asks without meaning to.

The other one’s voice echoes and he smiles from the grandeur of it. The lights dim around them as the boy steps closer to him.

\- Why not.

“You’re not a believer.”

\- I am now. And I’m not who I was, either, John.

John sucks in the cigarette and holds it between his lips. “Didn’t you want closure?”

\- I didn’t know this was an option.

“I don’t think you’re gonna like it, Chas.”

The thing that had once been Chas but is now…John’s not fond of the word _angel_ but what else can he say? cocks his head and crosses his arms over shapeless black garments that slightly resemble John’s coat. He smiles. Chas always did like that coat.

\- I thought you wanted Heaven, John. You certainly almost had it. You could still have it.

John takes his turn to cock his head and makes an acquiescent noise. “Yeah,” he shoots smoke from his nostrils. “But Loo had other ideas.”

He rubs at his ribs without meaning to; his lungs ache every once in a while now, and sometimes he _feels_ the pain of that tumor extraction like it’s happening in live time. “I have unfinished business,” he adds, and drops the spent cigarette, grinding it under the heel of his black loafers. “Besides, I don’t know that I belong there.”

The thing that had been Chas smiles, and John shudders. The power of God is a terrifying thing to behold, although he’s not going to admit that outloud. The wind blows against his back, and his hair ruffles with it. Chas’ wings flex and John looks away.

“I miss you, kid.”

The angel smiles more broadly. 

\- I’m here if you need me.

And he’s gone, the power behind those wings buffeting John backward; he has to reach out a hand and catch himself at the edge of the roof. He tracks the black sky with his eyes, but Chas – what had been Chas – is gone, and an empty, gnawing hole opens up in John’s chest where the pain from the tumors had been. Fucking irony, right.

He pulls out his pack of Silk Cuts, but it’s empty and he curses, more vehemently than necessary. 

His phone beeps.

“Yeah.”

_”I can’t sleep. You up for the diner?”_

“More than,” John answers, the smile she can’t see feeling strange on his tough, old face. The empty hole in his guts is still there, but he can suddenly envision a box to store it in and keep it for later, because he definitely deserves that hole. Definitely deserves that pain. 

_”See you there in fifteen.”_ Angela hangs up, but John keeps the phone to his ear for a moment, feeling the heat from her words down the line still. She’s good stuff. She’s good people, and he wants desperately to not fuck that up. Despite knowing how dangerous he is and how dangerous it is to be his friend. Or more.

He has time to stop and get more cigarettes before he has to meet her; it’s down the street and there’s always some shop open this time of night near the bowling alley. He climbs down the stairs and exits the building onto the street, his back a little bit straighter.

The lights on the street at the corner dim right as he’s about to cross the street –

He hears the faint whispering of voices –

He hears the beating of wings –

And he knows that despite what Heaven is supposed to mean and despite what Hell is supposed to mean, nothing is black and white and God damn it, he and Chas are not through. He’ll find the angel – if that’s what he truly is now – the next night and they’ll have a proper chat. The first proper chat they’ve ever really had.

The light reappears, and he crosses the street and picks up three packs of Silk Cut and walks the four-block walk to the diner and to Angela, his coat flapping at his knees and the smoke from the cigarette wreathing his head, the quick shape of devil’s horns it forms forcing a laugh from his currently cancer free lungs. 

~

**Author's Note:**

> So....I read the Hellblazer comics for many years back in the 90s, and while I liked this movie some when it first came out, I wasn't a huge fan as it wasn't the comics. However, having watched it again recently, I actually enjoyed it a lot more than I remembered, and can really see it (as I see the Walking Dead) as an AU almost of the comics. It has its own charm, and I was excited to dip my toe into this version of John. That being said, boy, was it hard not to go full comics. ;) I like Angela a lot too and was happy to use her here, and hope this little post - post credits scene is fun to read as I certainly enjoyed imagining it.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!!


End file.
